To Turn To The Dark Side, Press Three
by frodogenic
Summary: Anakin Skywalker discovers that the worst part about losing his arm is trying to convince the Republic Health Insurance Agency to pay for it. Because if anything will turn you to the Dark Side, it's HMOs...
1. Chapter 1

A/N: What do you know, I wrote a prequel fic! Anyway, this is a humor short story, starting after the end of AOTC and following through to the end of ROTS, following Anakin's misadventures with the Republic Health Insurance Agency. It is intended to be cohesive with the canon, although I took a few liberties with dialogue in ROTS, and I freely confess that I did not watch any of the Clone Wars series or read the novels. There will be five chapters of roughly equal length (it's actually FINISHED IN ADVANCE. Me. Can you believe it?!). If you've ever had to deal with an automated phone menu, this short story is dedicated to you. :)

Rated T for one or two instances of less-than-polished language and a few more instances of suggestive humor.

Further credits go to **Mathematica**, for once again doing me the honor of editing my work and suggesting some of the lyrics for that famous opera _The Sith Wars_. She does great work. Check it out sometime.

Hope you all enjoy! I had fun writing it.

...

* * *

Upon awakening, Anakin Skywalker's first feeling was befuddlement**.** Sunlight was streaming onto his face, and a cool breeze was whispering above him, but he was fairly certain that his room in the Temple didn't have a window. Nor did his bed have silky smooth sheets and thick fluffy pillows.

And it most definitely didn't have a beautiful brunette sleeping in it.

Then he remembered—he was on Naboo, with his brand-new wife. They had gotten married just yesterday evening. Letting out a sigh of contentment, he folded his arms beneath his head and turned slightly to watch her sleep.

The idyllic moment lasted a few seconds before Anakin realized that there was something very hard and decidedly painful beneath his pillow.

It took him a moment to figure out that the metallic ridge burrowing into the back of his scalp was actually his new prosthetic arm. He rolled his eyes at his own forgetfulness and shifted the arm out from under his head. Losing an arm definitely was an inconvenience. The prosthetic worked well for the most part, but he still hadn't figured out how to snap his fingers yet.

_Curse you, Dooku…_

Oh, well. He'd get used to it soon enough, surely. It wasn't going to hurt his lightsaber skills, and if this was the biggest of his inconveniences, he could live with it.

_An arm for Padmé_, he thought happily, _is definitely a fair exchange_.

* * *

There weren't any servants at the lake house, which meant the newlyweds didn't have to do any sneaking around. On the other hand, they did have to cook their own breakfast. Knowing from experience that Padmé was an abysmal chef, Anakin volunteered to scramble and fry, and let his bride set the breakfast table. She glowed when he emerged from the kitchen levitating the various dishes in front of him.

He felt her kiss was fair payment for the oil burns he'd gotten on his real hand.

"This came for you," Padmé said as they settled in at the table. She handed him a message hologram. He switched it on, expecting it to be from Obi-Wan, but instead the projector lit up with a corporate logo.

"Republic Health Insurance Agency?" he murmured. Squinting he deciphered the fine print beneath. "'Serving employees of the Galactic Republic for nine hundred years.' Wonder what this is about?"

The actual message blinked into being. Anakin skimmed it quickly, a frown creeping onto his features.

"Your arm?" Padmé guessed, her fork hovering forgotten over her plate.

"Yeah," he muttered. "They say I owe them … wait,13,575 credits?!"

Padmé raised an eyebrow. "That can't be right … I thought the Order covered all health care expenses."

"Me too," Anakin said, befuddled, flipping to the next screen of the message. "Why…oh, you've got to be kidding me!" he snarled**.**

"What?"

"They say they don't cover Sith Lords," Anakin said incredulously. "What, dothey think I turned to the Dark Side or something?"

Padmé snatched the hologram from him and read through it meticulously. "Wow," she said slowly. "I think they do."

Anakin shook his head. "Bureaucracy. And here I thought it couldn't get any more stupid."

"Don't worry," she said absently, eyes still on the message. "I'm sure the Order will take care of it."

He shrugged it off, pocketing the hologram in his tunic. "I'll clear it up when I get back to Coruscant," he said nonchalantly. "Right now I don't want to think about anything but you."

She beamed.

* * *

"I take it you've seen to the Senator's needs," Obi-Wan said briskly as Anakin vaulted out of his starfighter's cockpit.

_You have no idea_, mused the wayward Padawan. "Yes, Master," he said aloud, as solemnly as possible. "She's staying with her parents for a week before coming back to the Senate."

"Good," Obi-Wan said briskly. "We've a new assignment. Praesitlyn is thinking of joining the Separatists, and the Council is sending us to negotiate. We're leaving in three hours."

Anakin nodded. Normally he'd be upset at being shuffled off of Coruscant so quickly, but right now he was glad for something to distract him from missing Padmé. "I just need to run down to the medbay office," he said.

"What for?"

Anakin handed him the hologram message. Obi-Wan scanned it and had to stifle a laugh. "I see the bureaucratic system is in fine fettle, war or no war."

"Very funny, master."

* * *

Anakin had never before met the Padawan that was manning the medbay office desk. At least, he thought not, but the more he looked at her the more it occurred to him that she was exactly the sort of being you would forget you'd encountered. She had small drab brown eyes, short drab brown hair, and wore a tunic that evenYoda would have considered excessively boring. At present she was on the holocom with some harassed-looking Jedi or other. Unsurprisingly, her voice was tedious and monotonous. Every now and then, she would glance up at Anakin, and blow a startlingly pink bubble of gum.

He tapped his foot in intricate patterns and entertained himself with thoughts of Padmé for twenty minutes, ordering himself not to be annoyed by the way the girl's voice leaked out through her nose...or the arrhythmic snap of her bubble gum… Finally she ended the call and glanced up at him. "Yeeawh?" she drawled.

Anakin flashed his most charming smile, feeling as though one of them ought to demonstrate some personality, and extended the hologram message. "Ah, I've got an insurance problem here—you see, my arm—"

"Yaw're gawna hafta call RHIA yawself," she said through her nose, not even looking at him anymore as she tapped away on her console.

_Talk about an Agricultural Corps escapee._ "I, ah, thought the Order handled all medical expenses," he said instead.

"We can't handle yaw puhsonal infawmation," she droned by way of explanation. "Heah's the numbaw." She scrawled a long code on a piece of flimsy and tossed it on top of the hologram in his hand.

"Um," Anakin said, glancing at it. "Okay, then. Thanks." _For giving me a much-needed exercise in self-control_, he added silently.

She was, of course, not listening. Anakin sighed and glanced at his chrono. Well, he should still have plenty of time to call the—RHIA, was it?—and get this all sorted out. How long could it possibly take?

He trotted briskly up to his quarters, stuffed a fresh change of clothes in his bag, and punched the code into his holocom. The projector lit up with the image of a female Twi'lek, who looked as though only massive amounts of industrial strength adhesive prevented her enormous bust line from exploding out of a perilously-unzipped government-issue jumpsuit**. **For a brief instant, Anakin thought he had accidentally entered the code for the _Twi'leks Gone Wild!_ Penthouse channel_._

"Hello," she cooed.

"Hi," Anakin said, "I've got this misunderstanding with my—"

"—reached the Republic Health Insurance Agency, proudly serving employees of the Galactic Republic for nine hundred years," the Twi'lek continued indifferently. Anakin snapped his mouth shut, belatedly realizing it was a pre-recorded message.

"Our main office operating hours are from eight am to five pm Galactic City time," the Twi'lek said witha rather vapid smile. "Please call again during those hours, or stay on the line to listen to our automated holocom menu for more options."

_Menu?_ Anakin thought, scratching the base of his Padawan ponytail in confusion. _Aren't those __the things you get at__ restaurants?_

"If you know your party's extension, you may press or say it at any time during this message. If you are calling for a medical emergency, please divert your call immediately to the Galactic City Emergency Report Channel by pressing the red emergency button. If you are employed at the Senate, press one, or say, 'Senate.' If you are a registered care provider, press two, or say, 'Provider.' If you are calling regarding a psychological health issue, press three, and do not speak. If you are a Trandoshan, touch the biosensor pad once and stick out your tongue…"

Anakin didn't need Jedi powers of foresight to predict where this was going.

It felt like half an hour before the Twi'lek finally said, "If you are a Jedi, please press pound-four-six-six-twelve-auresh and touch the biosensor pad four short times and one long time, or say, 'Jedi'—"

"Jedi," Anakin said hastily.

The image blurred for a moment, and then the Twi'lek was back smiling as stiffly as ever. Anakin hoped she was a generated image, because no living being should have to smile that long. "Please be advised that your call may be monitored for quality control," she said. "If you are calling for a medical emergency…"

"Why in the galaxy would I call my insurance company if I was _dying_?" Anakin muttered.

"If you are a Master, press one, or say, 'Master.' If you are a Knight, press two, or say, 'Knight.' If you are a Padawan, press three, or say, 'Padawan.'"

"Padawan," Anakin muttered, wishing he could have said "Knight" instead.

"If you are a Healer—"

"Padawan!" Anakin said more loudly.

"—Press four, or say—"

"_Pa—da—wan!"_

"I'm sorry. Please remember to keep your voice or other vocalizing apparatus at a medium volume," the Twi'lek cooed.

Anakin cut a world-weary gaze to the ceiling. _A Jedi does not hate, a Jedi does not hate…_"Padawan," he repeated deliberately.

The image flickered to the next sub-menu. "If you are calling for a medical emergency…"

Anakin prided himself on his sense of direction, under normal circumstances, but it didn't take long for him to lose his virtual path as he was forced to navigate through an endless maze of sub-menus. "No, I don't want to get advice on my scalp health," he snarled as the Twi'lek rattled away. "Can't I just _talk _to somebody?"

"Okay," the Twi'lek said. Anakin started, and then narrowed his eyes in the terrible suspicion that, possibly, this hadn't been pre-recorded after all. "Please wait while I transfer your call to the Customer Assistance desk. Have a pleasant standard day."

"I'm trying," Anakin told her dryly as she disappeared with a small wave of her hand.

He leaned back, rubbing the base of his ponytail in an effort to restore his equanimity, and listened to the opera music that had begun to play. Where had he heard that tune before…oh, right, it was playing in the Chancellor's office half the time. _The Sith Wars_—he seemed to recall that that was one of Palpatine's favorite operas. How listening to a fat man caterwaul about death and destruction could be anyone's favorite anything, Anakin had no idea.

The projector suddenly chimed and came up with the image of an overweight Rodian. Anakin hoped that yellowish tint to his skin was just the result of a projector flaw. "ThankyouforcallingRepublicHealthInsuranceAgencypleasehold," he droned.

And before Anakin could get one word in edgewise, he was listening to _The Sith Wars_ again.

* * *

Anakin ran out of time to wait just as the opera started its third loop. To his own chagrin, he found himself humming the lyrics as he hustled through the Temple hallways. A passing gaggle of Initiates bestowed him with alarmed looks from their vantage point on an upper balcony. He shot them a heated glare in return. Really, was it _his_ fault that it actually had quite a catchy tune?

"… and the Jedi will fall … the Sith shall rule all …"

Okay, so maybe it was a bit morbid, but it was a classic for a reason, right?.

Obi-Wan glanced up from checking his starfighter's systems as Anakin skidded into the hangar, exactly one minute before they were scheduled to leave. "Have you got that insurance business sorted out?"

Anakin scowled at him as he stuffed his bag into the cockpit. "I listened to an entire opera while the agency had me on hold. I think my eardrums need counseling."

"Which opera?" Obi-Wan asked placidly.

"The Sith Wars."

"At least that's a fairly educational one," his master said philosophically.

_Educational? What kind of Jedi describes an opera about Sith Lords ripping out Padawans' innards as educational?_

"Whatever," Anakin muttered aloud. He swung himself down into the cockpit. "I'll take care of it when we get back."

* * *

_One month later…_

"I missed you," Anakin murmured between kisses.

"Not sorry to leave Praesitlyn?" Padmé asked him mischievously.

"Or Jabiim, or Kamino, or Balamak," he replied. The brief mission to Praesitlyn had morphed into a grueling tour of several conflict sites around the Middle Rim, and had somehow degenerated from diplomacy to "aggressive negotiations" to full-scale military offensives involving the whole Grand Army of the Republic.

She leaned against his chest, looking up at him with a smile. The smile faded a little into concern. "The war—is it as terrible as the holonews makes it out to be?"

"It could be a lot worse," he said gamely, with a brave grin.

"Anakin, I'm serious—"

"—It could be on Tatooine—"

"—Anakin—"

"—I could be sharing a sleeping bag with Obi-Wan—"

"—Anakin!—"

"—Jar-Jar could be there—"

"—_Anakin!_" She pushed him away in frustration.

"I'm alright," he told her, sobering up. "Really. I am."

She eyed him suspiciously. "You'd better not be hiding anything from me."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"You'd better not be turning to the Dark Side."

"If I was, you would be the first to know," he promised earnestly. She laughed at that and let him tuck his arms around her again.

"Just be forewarned that I'm not going to pay for a new health insurance policy," she teased him. "You know RHIA doesn't cover Sith Lords."

Anakin smacked his head. "I forgot I still had to take care of that."

She frowned again. "Anakin, it's been a month. Why didn't you do that already?"

"I only had a three-hour interim between the honeymoon and the war," he pointed out, "and you can't expect me to call them in the middle of a siege. Force, I can just see it now—" He struck a pose wielding an imaginary lightsaber. "Um, hi, is this the RHIA? Yeah, I'm actually fighting a battalion of droids right now, why don't you just—oh, damn, there goes my other arm—"

"Ani, I'm serious!" Padmé snapped.

He laughed**. **"Don't worry. I'll call them as soon as I get back to the Temple." A wicked grin worked its way onto his face, and he planted another kiss on her. "Which won't be for a very long time."

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you, those of you who read/reviewed the first chapter. Everybody say hello to Chapter Two...

Those of you who, like myself, think that _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_ is an amazingly hilarious movie, will probably recognize the inspiration behind this chapter's lyrics from that most classic of operas, _The Sith Wars_. :) _"Brave, brave, brave, brave Sir Robin..."_

...

* * *

Obi-Wan had just finished a much-needed meditation session and was brewing himself some tea when Anakin came back. "Where were you?" the Jedi Master asked mildly without turning around.

"Exploring the Southern Underground," Anakin said innocently. Too innocently.

Obi-Wan turned around with eyebrows raised. "Tell me you weren't garbage pit racing again."

"Of course not, Master," his Padawan said righteously, unconsciously brushing some slime off one sleeve.

"Honestly, Anakin," Obi-Wan sighed, stirring his tea, "I thought we discussed this when you were ten—"

"And I haven't done it again!"

"Then pray tell how you managed to dunk yourself in crud up to the knees?" He gestured with the teaspoon at the soupy stains that reached up above the tops of his wayward Padawan's boots.

The door chime rang. Thanking his lucky stars that Obi-Wan had latched upon such a relatively innocent interpretation for the trousers he'd mucked up slogging through the sewer system of 500 Republica, and reflecting that he really needed a better secret escape route from Padmé's penthouse, Anakin rushed to answer it.

"Hello?" he got out before a squadron of messenger droids zoomed through.

The sudden arrival of what appeared to be Coruscant's entire hoverdroid fleet immediately distracted Obi-Wan from the question of Anakin's bedraggled state. "What's this, Anakin?" he demanded. Abandoning his tea, he ventured out of the kitchenette and into the main room, where the droids were jockeying for airspace. "What's R-H-I-A?"

Anakin sank into the divan with a long-suffering sigh.

There were a total of five messages, one for each firstday he'd been away from Coruscant, each reminding him in increasingly stiff terms that he still owed RHIA upwards of 13,000 credits for the new prosthetic arm. The last one informed him that he now owed an additional 1,300 in interest for being overdue on the first payment.

Obi-Wan found it all terribly entertaining. "Being in debt is not the Jedi way, my young Padawan," he commented.

Anakin scowled. "I thought not being paid a salary was the Jedi way."

Obi-Wan snorted disastrously into his cup, spewing tea down the front of his robe.

Anakin slapped his hands decisively on his thighs and sprang up out of the divan. "That's it, I'm calling them now." He marched off to his room.

* * *

Fortunately, Anakin now knew he did not have to endure the company of the Twi'lek and her holocom menu. He immediately asked to be transferred to the assistance desk, where—as expected—he was put on hold. _The Sith Wars_ began playing.

"I will bash in his heard, I will rip out his heart, with the power of the Dark Side I'll tear him apart…"

Anakin turned down the volume, broke out his datapad, and spent two hours composing a letter for Padmé until a frighteningly reedy Barabel finally sprang into existence on the projector. Anakin quickly turned the volume back up.

"Thank you for holding," the Barabel rasped. "I am Ragabar. How may I be of assistance?"

"Hi," Anakin said, fishing the original message from the insurance agency out of his tunic pocket. "I'm calling to clear up a misunderstanding regarding—"

"Name, occupation, and policy number, please," said the Barabel.

"I'm Anakin Skywalker. I'm a Jedi Padawan."

"And your policy number?"

"Um…I don't think I have one," Anakin said.

"Yes, you do," the Barabel said irritably. "You'll have to ask your Temple representative and call back later—"

"No, wait," Anakin yelped, horrified by the prospect of waiting another two hours on hold. "Just give me a second and I'll call her."

"All right, sir, I'll put you on hold—"

"It'll just take a second," Anakin cut him off hastily. "I promise."

The Barabel twitched in what Anakin could only assume was that species' version of a shrug. "You got two minutes."

Anakin quickly yanked out his comlink and called the medbay office. "Hi, uh—I need my insurance policy number," he stammered, one eye on the indifferent Barabel.

A familiar monotonous voice crackled out of his speaker. "Ah need yaw name."

"Anakin, uh, Skywalker. Anakin Skywalker."

"Awkay…aw-huh…" She made vague noises for a few seconds, during which Anakin fed the Barabel several encouraging just-wait-another-second smiles, until finally she came up with a number. Thoroughly relieved that things were—at last!—going his way, Anakin repeated it to the Barabel one numeral at a time.

"Skywalker, Anakin," the Barabel announced. "Says here you owe 14,875 credits for uncovered medical expenses."

"Yeah, but the problem is, I ought to be covered," Anakin explained. "Don't you cover all Jedi medical expenses?"

"I think so," the Barabel said with another twitch, flicking its reptilian tongue absently.

"See," Anakin began, "the message I got says they don't cover Sith Lords, and I'm sure they don't, but I'm not a Sith."

"Uh-huh," muttered the Barabel. Anakin got the impression that the Barabel wouldn't have been terribly impressed even if he _was_ a Sith. "Well, you're gonna have to go to your Temple representative and fill out the petition form. Send that in and we should have it cleared up in no time."

Anakin brightened at the news. "Great!"

* * *

"Yaw're gawna hafta pick it up awn level fawty-two, at the co-op awfice," said the drab Padawan at the medbay desk.

"But RHIA said to get the form from the Temple representative –"

"They're at the co-op awfice," she drawled, as though she was talking to a youngling.

"But you had my policy number."

"Ah can access the medicawl system," she sighed, "but ah don't have the fawms."

"Ooo-kay," Anakin said.

_I have a bad feeling about this…_

* * *

"The petition form? You'll need to call the RHIA customer service hotline and request it," said the uniformed insurance representative at the co-op office.

"But I just called them, and they said—"

"Oh, no, sir, that was the main organization system," the bright-eyed Falleen woman corrected him cheerfully. "You'll need _this_ code."

She handed him a card crammed to the extreme edges with dozens of very long codes in very small print, drawing a highlighter across one.

"Thanks," Anakin gritted out.

* * *

Obi-Wan was well into his evening book and had gone through three mugs of tea by the time Anakin emerged from his room. His normally upbeat Padawan's shoulders sagged wearily, his eyes appeared bloodshot and bereft of their usual mischievous spark, and he dropped onto the divan like a ten-ton cargo pallet.

"Mission accomplished?" Obi-Wan asked, stirring his fourth mug of tea.

Anakin shook his head with a sigh of exhaustion. "I have to wait five to seven business days for the form I need," he said, sounding as disgusted as if he'd just swum through an ocean of rotting eyeballs and mucus.

"We're leaving for Virujansi in four," Obi-Wan informed him.

Anakin groaned and let his head flop back dispiritedly. "And they think _I'm_ a Sith Lord."

Obi-Wan shook his head and began a long discourse on the failings of the Republic bureaucracy, to which Anakin did not pay any attention. After this afternoon, he thought he had quite an excellent grasp of the flaws in the present system of government, and felt that he would make better use of his time coming up with a way to break it to Padmé that he was leaving again.

_Good news, dear, you're not going to have anything to distract you from work for a month!_

No, that wouldn't go over well.

_Guess what, darling? We won't have to do any sneaking around for a while!_

Er…how about…

_Well, honey, get ready to add to your love letter collection!_

Ah, frack. He slumped on the divan even further with a deep sigh, realizing that she would probably be mad at him no matter how he told her. Taking this as a sign that Anakin was in total agreement with his dire analysis of government administration, Obi-Wan launched into a passionate lecture on the demerits of the galactic education system. That meant Anakin had at least ten more minutes to contemplate his newfound marital challenges.

Maybe he just shouldn't tell her at all.

Upon realizing that that would only make her even more furious with him when he got back, Anakin decided he would just have to brave her wrath now so as to have an enthusiastic welcome when he got home.

"Er, Master?" he said when Obi-Wan finally paused for breath. "Did the Council tell you how long we'd be on Virujansi?"

Obi-Wan blinked at the sudden change of subject. "Roughly a week."

_Well_, Anakin thought, closing his bloodshot eyes and promptly falling asleep on the divan, _a week isn't so bad_.

* * *

_Two months and one week later…_

"Home sweet home," Obi-Wan sighed.

"One week my afterburners," Anakin growled, dragging his dirt-smeared, bloodstained, carbon-scorched travel bag through the door of their quarters by one beleaguered strap.

Behind him trailed a convoy of messenger droids large enough to besiege the whole system. Obi-Wan glanced at them with only mild surprise as they began delivering their dire warnings of overdue payments, increasing interest, and impending legal action. Anakin ignored them entirely and began shoveling through the pile of RHIA logo-stamped envelopes that had collected on the floor outside their mail slot.

"Where are you, you son of a—"

"Padawan!"

"Sorry, Master," Anakin said, his voice betraying a total absence of sincerity. "Aha!" Triumphantly he held up a larger envelope, marked _Form Delivery For: SKYWALKER, ANAKIN._

"Oh, good," Obi-Wan said happily. About a month ago, the messenger droids had begun showing up daily at the front lines of the fighting on Bardol Major, and both of them were sick of being woken up by persistent, loud recordings ordering Anakin to pay up or be sued. Anakin had tried calling the agency about it, only to be told that he would have to explain the fact that he was too busy fighting a war to pay bills he shouldn't owe on _another_ petition form.

After that, Anakin had started using the droids for target practice. As of now he could bisect three per second. If the messenger droids kept coming for a few more weeks, Obi-Wan mused, Dooku wouldn't stand a chance the next time the three of them met…

"I'm going to go fill this out someplace quiet, and mail it, and take a very long walk," Anakin announced.

"No garbage pit racing," Obi-Wan said sternly.

"No garbage pit racing. Got it, Master."

* * *

"And…done," Anakin announced as he scrawled his sloppy signature on the last line of the twelve-page petition form. With a satisfied sigh, he threw the stylus down on the stack of flimsy and collapsed backwards on Padmé's bed. He rolled his head over and gave her a giddy smile.

"Oh, you're not clocked out yet, Jedi Skywalker," Padmé said mischievously, wriggling closer and tugging on his braid. "My to-do list has been piling up."

"Lots of physical labor, I hope," Anakin grinned, sneaking one arm beneath her.

She squealed and hit him with a pillow. "No tickling with the prosthetic!"

"What _can_ I do with the prosthetic?" he asked slyly.

"You can lift your brain out of the gutter!"

"Hey!" he said, in wounded tones. "My brain works very hard to get into this particular gutter!"

"Oh? What _did_ you tell Obi-Wan?"

"Said I was going someplace quiet."

"How inventive."

"Speaking of inventive," Anakin mused, "I need a new escape route—"

She cut him off with a solid kiss. "You aren't going anywhere yet."

* * *

The messenger droids kept coming, of course, now arriving in pairs. One brought the bill and one the reminder of impending legal action. "I really hope they get that form processed before the court date," Anakin said conversationally, slicing the latest droid into two smoldering halves. The lightsaber hissed and squealed with relish, apparently sharing its master's opinion of the RHIA.

"You know, you probably should stop wrecking those," Obi-Wan grunted from his side of the training room, where he was busy with pushups.

Anakin chased down the other droid, which had sought refuge in a corner of the ceiling. It plummeted with an electronic wail and scattered sparking components across the floor. "Why's that, Master?" he asked innocently.

"Because here you can't blame it on the Separatists," Obi-Wan shot back. "I'm fairly sure that the Order _doesn't_ pay for it when you wantonly destroy other people's droids."

"I never break things wantonly," Anakin defended. "Only when it's necessary."

Obi-Wan paused at the top of a pushup and watched Anakin gleefully snip a piece of droid into an even smaller piece of droid. "I fail to see how this is necessary."

Anakin straightened, drew himself up into an exactingly heroic stance, and donned a look of sophisticated Jedi dignity. "They're a public menace, Master. I'm keeping the peace."

"I would think RHIA was the real public menace."

Anakin scowled and started another kata. "Don't tempt me, Master."

* * *

Three months later, the droids were still swamping their quarters. A number of them had taken to chasing Anakin no matter where he went, forcing him to develop several extremely creative and even more extremely uncomfortable techniques for sneaking up to Padmé's penthouse unnoticed. Last time he had borrowed a technician's uniform and sneaked in via the cramped ventilator shaft, unaware that the shaft came out in Padmé's 'fresher.

Understandably, she had been a bit startled when a technician dropped out of the ceiling into her shower. Anakin winced, rubbing the large bruise on his forehead where her heavy bar of soap had struck.

He hadn't known she could swear in Huttese…_and_ in Rodian.

"I can't believe you let that hooligan hit you in the head with a hydrospanner," Obi-Wan said, eyeing the ugly purple blotch.

"Well, I couldn't dodge all fifteen of them, Master," Anakin said bravely.

"In the Southern Underground, was it?"

"Uh…somewhere around there," he hedged.

They barely even looked up as the fifth messenger droid of the day came zooming in. "You'll have to call RHIA again, Padawan," Obi-Wan said. "That court date is in a week."

"I know, I know," Anakin groaned. "I'm going to visit the office tomorrow morning."

"And I would advise taking your walks somewhere less…adventurous."

"I'll find a less hazardous route," Anakin promised fervently. _Darling, you're gorgeous, but it's not worth a concussion to interrupt your shower…_

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED...


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks once more to all readers, but particularly to the reviewers, because you make my day. :) No particular credits to make this chapter, so let's just get on with the story, eh?

...

* * *

That night, Anakin was none too pleased to be awakened at three am by a pounding on the door. He staggered out of bed, mumbling a number of choice words in Huttese, and answered the door with a groggy, scowling "Whaddayawant?"

"Are you Anakin Skywalker?" a Galactic City security officer asked sternly.

Anakin blinked as the officer whipped out a bioscanner and flashed its blue analysis light in his eyes. "Uh…yeah…why?"

The officer nodded grimly as the bioscanner switched to green, having confirmed his identity. "Mr. Skywalker, I'm going to have to place you under arrest."

"What?" Anakin shouted. "Why?"

"You're being charged with insurance fraud and failure to pay legally declared bills and interest," the officer announced, spinning him around and snapping his hands in binders.

Anakin twisted out of his grip. "What the kreth?" he asked incredulously. "I filed the petition form about this whole mess months ago!"

"That's not what the Republic Health Insurance Agency reported to the precinct, mister," said the officer, grabbing his elbow again. "Now. You have the right to remain silent—"

"The nine hells I'm going to remain silent!" Anakin yelled, jerking his elbow away again.

"If you don't come quietly, buddy, I'll charge you with resisting arrest," the officer barked. "I think you're in enough trouble without that, don't you?" He let his finger rub warningly on the stun switch of his blaster.

Anakin gaped at him in disbelief for half a second—_strangling people is of the Dark Side_, he reminded himself, _even if I'd be doing the galaxy a favor_—before Obi-Wan trudged in and flicked on the lights. "Anakin, what's going on?" he demanded crossly, tying the belt of his nightrobe.

"This twit's arresting me, Master!" Anakin burst out. He awkwardly jabbed his bound hands at the officer.

Obi-Wan came to a dead halt and stared, taking in the sight of his Padawan in handcuffs. "There must be a mistake, Officer," he tried. "He's a Jedi Padawan. What could you possibly be arresting him for?"

"Insurance fraud and failure to—"

"That mess with RHIA?" Obi-Wan said. "That's hardly a criminal offense!"

"City policy is to detain defaultees one week before the court hearing," the officer informed them. "So they don't make a run for it." He pursed his eyebrows at the thwarted defaultee in question with a severe sort of triumph.

Anakin groaned and leaned against the wall, staring at the ceiling. "I don't believe this."

"I think you should go with him for now, Anakin," Obi-Wan announced. "I promise you, I'll speak to the authorities and have you out by morning."

Anakin scowled as the officer marched him out the door and into a lift. "I don't believe this. My own master is sending me to the slammer."

"Oh, stop whining and find the humor in it. It's only for a few hours."

"I'm going to kill you someday," Anakin declared before the lift doors swished shut between them.

* * *

Obi-Wan spent the hours until the precinct office would open assembling and rehearsing his case on Anakin's behalf—only to be halted on his way out the door at 7:30am by a nervous youngling carrying a summons from the Council.

_Sorry, Anakin_, he thought ruefully in the direction of his apprentice's vague but indignant Force presence. _Twelve Masters trump one Padawan_.

In short order he was standing in the middle of the Council, under the piercing scrutiny of Yoda and Mace Windu, shrugging his brown robe into a more distinguished position and feeling profoundly relieved he hadn't been wearing his nightrobe.

"Jedi Kenobi," Windu said without preamble, "your prompt arrival is appreciated, but the Council summoned you _and_ your Padawan. You both need to be briefed for your next assignment."

"Where is young Skywalker?" Yoda added.

Obi-Wan sighed. He had a sneaking sensation this was going to be a long audience. "You're not going to believe this, masters…"

* * *

Anakin had had a spectacularly bad night. For starters, the binders were sized to fit a Jawa and cut off his blood circulation. Then there was the accident that the officer's trainee had nearly gotten them into, the one that, if Anakin had not used the Force to yank the speeder out of the way, would have left them all plastered against the west side of the Galaxy Opera House—squarely in the middle of a huge, gory ad for _The Sith Wars_, no less. And when they finally made it to the precinct detention center, he had been thrown into a cell with an obese, intoxicated, coughing Wookiee that smelled as if it hadn't had a bath since it was born. Needless to say, there was no 'fresher.

The front lines were infinitely better than this.

Anakin stifled yet another sigh and ordered his back to stay straight. He might be in a shrimpy jail cell with a huge, massively unwashed, roaring drunk Wookiee, but he was going to look like a Jedi anyway, kreth it.

Distantly, he wondered if Count Dooku was keeling over with laughter in some far-flung corner of the galaxy. Probably listening to _The Sith Wars_. On loop.

He glanced up at the chrono. Ten in the morning. _Slept in, did we, Master?_

Anakin wiled away another hour mentally composing the scalding letter he planned on sending RHIA when he got out of jail. Once he'd settled on the more choice epithets—most of them in Huttese, since Basic just didn't have the same aptitude for insulting people—he started on the one for the police precinct. It was past noon and the Wookiee had thrown up twice when the door of the cell suddenly opened to reveal Obi-Wan.

Anakin scowled and pushed up off the bit of floor not covered in Wookiee vomit. "You call _this_ morning?"

"_You_ usually do," Obi-Wan retorted.

"Not since I was fourteen and you levitated me into the fountain lake."

"Are you going to thank me for bailing you out or not?"

"Thanks," Anakin spat, hurrying out of the cell. He made sure to skewer the officer with a baleful stare on the way down the corridor.

"Actually, it was the Council," Obi-Wan said. "It appears Master Yoda has good relations with the detention warden."

"Too bad he doesn't have good relations with RHIA," Anakin grunted, activating the main door of the detention center—

As soon as he stepped out, a flash of light blinded him.

"Padawan Skywalker, over here!"

Another series of brilliant flashes, and lots of beings cramming around him thrusting com pickups into his face, so thickly it was a wonder he could breathe.

"Padawan Skywalker, would you care to comment on this incident to the Coruscant Herald?"

"Padawan Skywalker, is it true that you murdered a band of homeless beings on Aldray Avenue last night?"

"Padawan Skywalker, Galactic City Daily. Reports are claiming you caused a major collision near the Galaxy Opera House last night—is there any truth to—"

"Padawan Skywalker, what did you learn spending a night in—"

As Anakin turned in a dazed, horrified circle, only one thought would surface. _Padmé is going to _kill_ me._

* * *

By the time the two Jedi managed to fight clear of the crush of reporters and holographers, Anakin's mug shot had already been transmitted to tabloid publishers and was floating around the Holonet along with a thousand and one reports speculating on what he'd done to land himself in jail. Depending on which one you read, he was anything from a raging homicidal maniac to a death stick dealer to a Separatist spy.

"Personally," said Padmé, "I like this one."

"Which one?" Anakin sighed, shifting his prosthetic arm out from under his head yet again.

She fluffed her pillow and rolled on her side towards him to read the headline off her datapad. "Stripper Padawan arrested in nightclub," she read, the corners of her mouth quirking. "See, they've even got a picture. Sort of."

Anakin glanced sideways at the projected image and groaned. "I'm gonna kill them."

"The reporters?"

"No, RHIA!"

"At least the Council got them to back down about the court date until you resubmit that form."

"Which won't be delivered for _another_ five to seven business days," Anakin pointed out furiously. "And we're leaving for Muunilinst at the end of the week."

Padmé sighed. "I'm tired of these deployments already."

"So am I."

"But at least this time," she added cheerfully, brandishing the datapad, "I'll have a picture of you to keep me company, in all of your, ah, natural glory…"

"Don't you dare put that picture on the projector over there."

"But I like it."

"It's not even me!"

"Really?" Padmé asked, toggling to the next, even more explicit image in the series. "Because _that_ one sure looks like you to me—"

Anakin glanced again and huffed indignantly. "My personal anatomy is much more impressive than that, woman."

"Can't seem to remember," she teased glibly. "You're just gone so much…"

He leaned over and kissed her. "Don't worry. I bet you anything the war will be over soon."

"You think so?" she asked wistfully.

"Two more months tops," Anakin said confidently.

* * *

_Two years later…_

"Ah, Anakin," smiled Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, holding out both arms in a gesture of fatherly welcome, "it's so wonderful to have you back safely."

Anakin made a slight bow, handing over the message he'd volunteered to deliver for the Council. It was still a bit discomfiting to have the leader of the galaxy treating him, a mere ex-slave and recently-promoted Jedi Knight, with such familiarity. If Anakin hadn't known that Palpatine was a dedicated, peace-loving servant-leader devoted wholly to the restoration of the Republic, totally focused on the wellbeing of all its citizens, he might have thought the old man had something hidden up his voluminous Nubian sleeves.

"It's always good to be back in one piece, Your Excellency," he said. "I certainly don't need any more insurance trouble."

"Indeed," Palpatine agreed. "How is that particular matter proceeding?"

Anakin scowled. "I think the only way I'm ever going to get this mess dealt with is if somebody overthrows the whole blasted bureaucracy."

"Well," Palpatine said sagely, "good things come to those who wait…"

"I've certainly done enough of that," Anakin said darkly. "Do you know I've spent three hundred hours on hold with the RHIA Customer Assistance Desk? I totaled it up yesterday."

"Surely not," Palpatine said, horrified.

Anakin nodded glumly. "I filed my thirty-sixth complaint against their customer service yesterday. Not to mention the _eighteen_ petition forms I've sent them that got lost or had to be redone."

"A sad portrait of our bureaucracy," Palpatine pronounced with a deprecatory shake of his head.

"Oh, it gets worse," Anakin added, stalking back and forth in front of the window in the Chancellor's office. "They just presented me with the next court date. I'll be getting arrested in about three days. Again."

"Perhaps if you were to speak with them now—"

Anakin waved a dismissive hand. "Tried that. Waste of time. Now I just keep a deck of cards on me."

"Cards?"

"The warden is a pretty fair sabacc player," Anakin explained.

Palpatine's wiry eyebrows hiked upward. "The warden plays sabacc with you after arresting you? Isn't that rather unprofessional of him?"

Anakin snorted. "Last time, he was so busy with a bunch of drunk Aqualish that he had me book myself."

"Anakin, surely you can't be serious!"

"Took my own mug shot too," Anakin sighed. "I swear, Your Excellency, the bureaucracy is as bad as the war. The more I fight, the worse it gets on both fronts."

"I'm sure all your enemies will run out of tricks eventually," Palpatine assured him.

"I'm not holding my breath. Did you know they filed another lawsuit?"

"Ah," Palpatine said knowingly. "The messenger droids you've been, ah, putting out of service?"

Anakin nodded. "I threatened them with a counter-suit for harassment."

"I didn't know Jedi could file lawsuits."

"They can't," Anakin smirked. "But with any luck RHIA doesn't know that…"

"Wouldn't it be more effective to speak with the Coruscant regional director?" Palpatine suggested, swiveling his chair to watch Anakin's boots dig a trench into thecarpet**.**

"Tried that too. But I never know when I'll be on Coruscant these days, and besides that, I learned from that blasted Temple representative that I don't technically own my policy, the Order does, and his secretary won't book me an appointment unless I'm a _paying_ customer!" He threw up his hands and grabbed at his hair in frustration. "But it's perfectly alright for them to _charge_ me, the non-paying customer!"

"Well," the Chancellor said at length, "I do sympathize with you, Anakin. I'm still haggling with RHIA over a dental bill from the start of my last term. Although, since that was only sixty credits and yours is—what is it now?"

"About thirty thousand," Anakin muttered, kneading his eyebrows with his thumbs.

"Yes, I imagine they're a bit more insistent about yours," said Palpatine.

"At least they're an egalitarian pain in the—" Anakin managed to catch himself mid-expletive, but Palpatine only looked amused.

"Even Supreme Chancellors are no match for the massive deadweight of the government health insurance system," he agreed.

"They must think you're a Sith Lord, too," Anakin offered wryly.

"Perhaps I am," Palpatine said lightly, with a very wide smile.

Anakin laughed, then glanced down as his com pinged softly. "I'm going to have to be going, Your Excellency," he announced apologetically. "That's Obi-Wan. I think we have another briefing."

"Never keep your master waiting," Palpatine advised. "And do feel free to drop by any time, Anakin. I greatly enjoy our little conversations."

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED...


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks for all the beautiful reviews for last chapter. Credits, credits...inspiration for some of the dialogue Anakin has with the RHIA representative in this chapter comes from "Not in the Plan" by Darthishtar, a health insurance parody oneshot I discovered after this story was mostly written. If you like this one, head to my favorites list and check that one out, because it's hilarious, probably even better than mine. :)

...

* * *

"Bespin Standard, gents?" asked the warden, expertly dealing out Anakin's card deck to the circle of players.

"Nah, I vote Corellian Gambit," said Officer Harrali, flicking some ash off the end of his cigar. Anakin subtly shifted the angle of the intake vent overhead with the Force so as to draw off the smoke more efficiently. There was something about smoke that always made him oddly uneasy…

"What say Force Sabacc, in honor of the guest?" The warden waved a hand at Anakin.

"Eh," said Harrali indifferently.

"Force Sabacc it is," agreed Officer Bekker. "You know, Skywalker, I think we only ever play that version when you're here."

"_I_ only ever play it when I'm here." Anakin sorted his hand out by suit, analyzing the possibilities. A two and a three—makings of an Idiot's Array. Now if he could just get the Idiot…for a fleeting second, he grasped an image of a RHIA representative shrunk down to card-size and squished into his hand beside the three.

His fingers tightened reflexively around the spot where the miniature RHIA agent's imaginary throat was located. _Who cares if strangulation is of the Dark Side…_

"What, uh, variety do they play at the Temple?" asked Trainee Gal'ya, who was new to the detention center staff since last Anakin had, erm, visited.

Anakin made a face. "None. They only play dejarik."

Expressions of disdain promptly appeared on every face.

"Thank the goddess you know how to play a real man's game," snorted the warden. "If it weren't for you we wouldn't have a round five players, now that Cadwallader got transferred to Block Twelve."

"Yeah, well, no offense to you gentlemen, but I'll be happy when you stop arresting me," Anakin said, slipping a card into the stasis field before accepting another.

"How is the RHIA thing coming?" Bekker kicked his seat back and let his lekku swing lazily.

Anakin leaned forward with a grin. "Don't tell anyone, but I think I may finally have that petition form submitted correctly." Applause erupted around the table.

Harrali raised a hand. "Thanks to me, I'll have you all know."

"Yeah," Anakin said with feeling, "I'd never have gotten page five sorted out without you."

Harrali shrugged, puffing on his cigar. "My mom worked in the Senate admin department. She handled all the health insurance paperwork for the Anoat Sector. A few things rubbed off on me, I guess." He tossed some chips into the pot and leaned back.

"Guess, uh, you won't find out until you get back from Rendili, though," Gal'ya commented, brushing his nose fur absently.

"How'd you know I was going to Rendili?" Anakin demanded in surprise.

"Well, uh, you and Kenobi always end up where the war's hottest, I read the tabs—"

"In or out, Gal'ya," the warden cut in impatiently.

"Uh, in. Don't you?"

Anakin thought back and realized that he and Obi-Wan had, indeed, been present at nearly every major engagement of the war to date. "I guess we do," he mused. "Some luck I've got…" He shook his head as he picked up the next card, then grinned and threw down his hand. "At least I have the luck of the draw in cards, though. Pure sabacc," he announced.

Groans circled the table as Anakin collected the pot.

"It's about the only thing you're lucky at," muttered the warden.

"Nah," Anakin said, unable to resist, "I'm lucky in love too."

"Thought you Jedi weren't allowed to love," Bekker pointed out.

"That's why I'm lucky, Mr. Triple Alimony," Anakin jibed easily, secure in the knowledge that Padmé would never _ever_ risk a visit to the detention center.

The rest of the table roared appreciatively as Bekker winced at the reminder of his checkered romantic past. "Shut up and deal, Skywalker."

* * *

_A few months later…_

"I need a new bag," Anakin announced from the hallway, entering Obi-Wan's quarters behind him.

Obi-Wan glanced back to see Anakin exhibiting his battle-scarred backpack. Both straps hung by threads, and there were so many patches over the blaster holes that hardly any original fabric remained visible, except for a wide swath near the top that had been partially melted by a near-miss from a Separatist laser cannon. "Yes, I think Yavin IV killed it."

Anakin shook his head sadly and deposited the bag on the end of the divan. "I've had that thing since Tatooine, you know." He pointed to the handle on the top, where his name sprawled out in uneven, half-capitalized letters, the _k_ written backwards.

With a covert roll of his eyes, Obi-Wan began sorting out their accumulated mail. Although Anakin had gotten his own rooms since being Knighted, most of his mail still got delivered here, as he'd never been back long enough to update his address.

"It's really depressing, Master, I feel like I'm losing one of my oldest friends—"

"And with any luck," Obi-Wan said triumphantly, brandishing one of their envelopes, "you're about to say goodbye to an old enemy as well."

Anakin turned curiously, then bolted over and snatched the envelope out of his Master's hands, ripping it open. "Mr. Anakin Skywalker," he read excitedly, "the Republic Health Insurance Agency has—_received and processed your petition form!"_

"Oh, thank heavens," Obi-Wan sighed. If he never saw another messenger droid, it would be too soon…

"Our analysts have examined your complaints regarding your outstanding bill," Anakin continued hastily, "and have concluded that—" His expression suddenly darkened.

"What?"

"That your objections are unsustainable," Anakin snarled, his face twisting into an evil glower. "You are hereby notified that your first payment is due in two weeks."

"Unbelievable," Obi-Wan groaned.

"Please call the Customer Assistance desk if you have any questions," Anakin finished, scowling fearsomely. "Have a good—oh, no I frackin' well _won't_ have a good standard day, you Hutt-scum-sucking-spawn-of-a—"

"Anakin, patience!" Obi-Wan cut in hastily.

Anakin waved the paper at him incredulously. "I've been patient for two and a half years!"

"Patience is by definition persistent," Obi-Wan said severely, slipping back into Master mode. "I fear you are allowing this insurance debacle to fuel your anger. You must control your anger!"

"That's easy for you to say, Master, you're not the one who's spent three hundred hours on hold! You're not the one who keeps getting arrested! I've got half a mind to turn to the dark side just so I don't have to keep trying to convince them I'm not a Sith!"

"Do not joke about such things, Anakin," Obi-Wan ordered. "The Sith are evil."

"So's RHIA, but at least the Sith are honest about it," Anakin snapped, stalking out of their quarters with the paper in tow. "_And_ they don't keep you waiting for two years!"

* * *

"Hello, Mr Skywalker," the Falleen representative said brightly. "How are you this…morning…"

Her voice trailed away at Anakin's thunderous expression. She and everybody else in the co-op office jumped as he slammed the letter from RHIA down on her desk. Anakin ignored the half-dozen stares of reproach from the Jedi who were present. "I want to know why in the nine hells RHIA rejected my petition form," he snapped, "and I want to know now."

She picked up the letter, which quaked in her hand despite the determined smile she wore. "Sir, you'll have to call the Customer Assistance—"

"I am _not_ listening to _The Sith Wars_ again," Anakin snarled. "Do you know I can sing every note of every part by heart? _Including the instrumental segments?"_

"I'm sorry?" the Falleen stammered.

Anakin pressed both hands to his forehead and sucked in a deep breath. "I'm not calling the desk and waiting on hold for two hours just so they can tell me they don't know anything," he finally got out in a low, measured voice. "I'm sick of playing holocom tag. You're the representative. Figure it out!"

"I—I could try looking you up in the system, but—"

"Then. Do. It," Anakin hissed. He waited, leaning on her desk, while she tapped commands into her console, glancing up at him warily every so often.

"Anakin Skywalker, correct?"

"Yes."

"And it's about the prosthetic replacement procedure two and a half years ago?"

"Yes. Now why did they reject my petition form?"

She sat back. "Looks very straightforward, sir. The Order doesn't pay for Sith Lord coverage."

"If I were a fracking Sith Lord, would I be talking to you in the Jedi Temple?" Anakin roared.

The representative's mouth curved into a sudden _O_. "Sir, there seems to have been a misunderstanding—"

"You _think_?" Anakin yelled.

"—What we mean is, the Order doesn't pay for coverage of injuries _inflicted_ by Sith Lords."

Anakin froze and blinked repeatedly. "What?" he finally asked in a very small voice.

"Well, it was reported that you lost your arm in a duel with a Sith Lord. And the Order policies don't cover that."

"Why not?" Anakin choked.

"That's an expensive premium service, sir. Since there haven't been any Sith Lords around for several hundred years, the Order dropped it to cut costs. You know how difficult the Senate budget committee can be." She scrolled down her screen. "Oh, and also you didn't see a certified care provider. You should have gone to Dr. Feef Torii on Kalarba—"

"Hold on just a krething second!" Anakin screeched. "I was treated by an army medic! In a war zone! I was six systems away from Kalarba!"

"Yes, I realize all that, sir, but we weren't affiliated with the Grand Army of the Republic Medical Corps at that time. According to your file, your injury occurred two days before war was declared, which means our wartime policies were not yet in effect. And even if they were, you're still not covered for Sith Lords."

She gave him a nervous grimace of a smile.

Anakin's eyebrows had nearly meshed into each other in the middle of his forehead from the effort of trying not only to restrain his temper, but also to imagine a way around all this bureaucratic two-stepping.

"But the Order covers all injuries inflicted in the line of duty. That includes peacekeeping, right?"

"Yes, sir. Jedi are primarily keepers of the peace."

"Yeah, obviously I wouldn't know that," Anakin barked, pointing at his lightsaber. "Doesn't defending the security of the Republic count as peacekeeping? That's why I was fighting a Sith Lord in the first place!"

"And we at RHIA greatly appreciate your dedication," consoled the representative. "But fighting Sith Lords technically has to be considered reckless endangerment. Which you're also not covered for."

Anakin leaned far enough over her desk to pick out individual flecks of color in her reptilian irises with a pair of tweezers. "I'm fighting a war," he hissed. "How is that _not_ reckless endangerment?"

"Sir, I sympathize, I really do," she said, not sounding even remotely sympathetic, "but I'm afraid you're going to have to take this up with the Order. Or, of course," she added helpfully, "you can always fill out a petition form—"

"You wanna know what you can do with your petition forms?" Anakin howled, lunging across the desk.

* * *

"…So now I'm on disciplinary notice," Anakin grumbled, collapsing on the pillow in a complete state of emotional exhaustion.

"Well, you should be," Padmé said severely. "Really, Anakin, stuffing all of that poor woman's records down the office trash chute. She'll be months getting everything sorted out."

"She can join the club," Anakin said darkly. "Now I have to start all over again. And I don't have time before Obi-Wan and I head out to the Outer Rim sieges."

"Anakin, you've just got to be patient," Padmé murmured, running her fingers through his hair.

"Again with the patience," Anakin grumbled. "You know, sometimes I think you and Obi-Wan are in league against me."

"That's ridiculous."

"He's going to turn you against me," Anakin continued morosely, head slumping further into the pillow. "I can see it coming now. He'll carry you off in some silvery ship and ditch me on a flaming planet full of lava and decapitated corpses."

She laughed. "Don't be so morbid."

"I can't help it," he sighed. "It's the war."

She promptly cuddled up against his chest and looked up at him with wide, serious eyes. "I promise you, Jedi Skywalker, there is no way I will ever ditch you for Obi-Wan."

He sighed and wrapped an arm around her. "I know. And I'm sorry I threw that cabinet file down the chute. I promise not to wreck any more corporate property."

"Not even the message droids?" Padmé said sternly.

"Except for the message droids," he said stubbornly. "And anything belonging to the Trade Federation."

"Good enough," she sighed. "Although I really don't think tearing apart the galactic infrastructure will resolve the conflict."

Anakin shrugged silently. They'd had this conversation—or rather argument—about the advisability of the war before, and he didn't want to get into another debate right before he left. "I'd rather not discuss the war right now."

She glanced up again, suddenly mischievous. "What _would_ you like to discuss?"

"I don't really think discussion will be necessary," he grinned, inching his real arm around to tug playfully at the clasp of her nightrobe.

She swatted his hand away, fighting a smile. "You're in trouble with me, you scoundrel, remember?"

"Scoundrel?" Anakin smirked, in precisely that way he felt to be most devilishly handsome. "I like the sound of that."

"I happen to like nice men," she said indignantly, attempting to ignore the fact that he was sneaking both arms around her.

"I'm a nice man."

"_Obi-Wan's_ a nice man," she teased.

"See, you're going back on your promise already," Anakin pouted.

Padmé donned a look of mock consideration, dropping her chin atop one fist and drumming her fingers thoughtfully on his chest. "Only if he shaves the beard," she announced.

* * *

TO BE CONCLUDED IN CHAPTER FIVE...


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Alas, tis the last chapter. All good things must come to an end...if it makes you feel any better, though, this chapter is a bit longer. And I also have ideas for an epilogue or something like that floating around in my mind, so there may yet be a little more if the right inspiration strikes. No specific credits to make this time, except to once again credit _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_ for inspiring the lyrics of _The Sith Wars_, and one more shoutout to my beta, **Mathematica**. :)

Thank you all for the reading and reviewing, and I'm delighted I gave you a bit of fun. :)

...

* * *

_Quite a few months later, after a rather spectacular space battle over Coruscant…_

Anakin sat back in the smoking, bashed-up bridge of one-half of the _Invisible Hand_, surrounded by the wreckage of miscellaneous droids and one quaking old politician, and reflected blackly on how incredibly pathetic it was that the first thing he thought was not that they were all still alive, or that he'd just killed an unarmed prisoner of war, or whether he'd vaporized anybody in the process of crashing a warship onto the galaxy's most populated planet, or even that he would hopefully be able to see Padmé soon.

No, the first thing Anakin Skywalker thought was: _Hmm, it's probably sabacc night at the detention center._

And the second thing he thought was: _Wonder if I'll have time to drop by RHIA before we have to report._

And the third thing he thought was: _This RHIA thing has really screwed up my psyche_.

"Anakin!" Obi-Wan's voice burst in on his grotesque thoughts before he could get to the fourth thought, which would undoubtedly have been full of inventive ways to dismember health insurance agents using only a pair of Padmé's nail clippers. "Have you not noticed the ship is still on fire?"

"Oh?" Anakin asked distantly. Then, as the Tatooine-esque heat of the air around him finally registered, "Oh. _Oh_." He leapt out of the navigation console and rushed behind the Chancellor's flapping robes through corridors that were, fortunately, now free of gravity shears, until they were able to pop a maintenance hatch and clamber out onto a fire-retardant-foamed section of cooling ship hull. Anxious-faced rescue workers hustled them off the tarmac, the center of which had been plowed up spectacularly by their latest happy landing. With many gushing expressions of relief and gratitude, the three of them were packed into a shuttle bound for the Senate.

Anakin paced the whole way. "Think they'd drop me off at RHIA?" he said, once the Chancellor's bodyguards had stopped fussing and the Chancellor himself had stopped heaping praises on his two Jedi rescuers.

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows. "I don't think so. One of us has to pose for the holocams."

Anakin turned away moodily. Dooku's stricken face appeared briefly before his eyes. "Let them find a real hero," he muttered.

Obi-Wan and Palpatine both looked at him as though desperate to comment on such an uncharacteristic statement. Anakin ignored them and stalked resolutely up and down the aisle until the awkward silence was broken by the chime of Obi-Wan's comlink.

"The Council has requested an immediate briefing," Obi-Wan announced.

Anakin felt his heart sink. The last thing he wanted right now was to be faced with the hostile stares of the Masters, shrinking on the middle of the chamber floor like some particularly ugly specimen under a microscope. _The Council wouldn't know a moral dilemma,_ he reflected vindictively, _if it shoved itself up their constipated_—

"I suppose you'll have just have to absorb the adoration of the press on your own," Obi-Wan added mischievously.

Anakin brightened with relief and summoned up his sense of mischief. "Well, that's very generous of you, but I just couldn't bring myself to make you do all the hard work, Master."

Palpatine watched with evident interest as Obi-Wan returned, "Oh, no, I insist. I owe it to you."

"For saving your skin for the tenth time?"

"Ninth," Obi-Wan said severely. "That business on Cato Neimoidia doesn't count. Besides, I've gotten you out of jail several times now."

"Master Yoda's gotten me out of jail several times," Anakin corrected, traipsing airily down the aisle. "You were just his errand boy. And you're the one who made me go to jail in the first place, remember?"

Obi-Wan leaned back huffily. "It's no more than you deserve for losing your lightsaber—how many times now? Six?"

"And yet I live," Anakin said loftily. "Whereas you, if memory serves me, had to be carried off that ship hanging unconscious over my shoulder."

"You weren't doing so much better when I came to," Obi-Wan pointed out.

"It was all part of the plan."

"The Chancellor hanging from your ankle over an endless turbolift shaft was part of the plan?"

Anakin glanced sheepishly at his other mentor. "It, um, was a very flexible plan."

"Oh," Palpatine brushed it off, "all's well that ends well."

"See?" Anakin said. "I agree with him."

_When don't you?_ Obi-Wan sent to him with a disapproving look. "If you keep pulling stunts like that, you'll find yourself in another mess with RHIA," he said aloud.

Anakin snorted. "I just won't report it."

Obi-Wan's look got even more disapproving.

* * *

_Some hours later…_

Anakin walked into Padmé's bedroom and tugged off his shirt with a profound sigh.

"Intense day, huh?" she asked, rolling over onto her elbow on her side of the bed.

"Tell me about it," Anakin groaned. "Hours this afternoon talking to RHIA's Coruscant regional director, not to mention all his sub-directors, filling out the paperwork so I could meet with the directors, and I _still_ didn't get this mess sorted out."

"I was actually referring to the part where you found out you were _going to be a father_," Padmé snapped.

"Oh…right…" Anakin said vaguely.

" 'Oh, right'? You said this was the happiest day of your life!"

"Well," Anakin reasoned, "that was before I spent the whole afternoon talking to health insurance providers."

Her eyebrows jerked up at least forty degrees, and she sat up indignantly. "Anakin! This is _our baby_ we're talking about! Are you seriously telling me that your health insurance problems are more important to you than our baby?"

"Padmé, sugar," Anakin said reasonably, "the health insurance thing _is_ more important. I mean, you're not even having the baby for two more months."

Padmé bolted out of bed, grabbed him by the arm, and marched him into the main room. "Anakin," she announced, "meet your new best friend—the couch."

* * *

The couch was definitely not Anakin's new best friend. It didn't feel one tenth as good as it looked, which resulted in Anakin trying to sleep on the floor just as he usually did on the front lines. But without the lullaby of blaster bolts and blazing cannons and screeching attack craft, it just wasn't the same. He didn't even doze off until five in the morning, so busy was he grousing about Padmé and the growing crick in his neck, and as a result he slept in so long he missed the Council briefing he was supposed to help Obi-Wan give on the Outer Rim sieges.

As if the Council didn't hate him enough as it was. Frustrated, Anakin slashed an ozone path through the innards of the latest RHIA messenger droid to harass him. "Hormones are of the Dark Side," he growled.

Naturally, Obi-Wan picked that precise moment to walk into the training room. "What is of the Dark Side?" he asked.

"Ah…trombones. I said trombones are of the Dark Side." _Great, Skywalker, how stupid can you get?_ "There…um…there's this trombone solo in _The Sith Wars_, you see, Aria Number Twelve…it's been stuck in my head…"

Obi-Wan had raised his eyebrows, in the sort of look that said he suspected Anakin had been garbage-pit racing recently.

"You know," Anakin muttered lamely. "Dum-dum-dum, dum-da-dum…dum-da-dum…" He swung his lightsaber vaguely like a conductor's baton.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan asked carefully, "have you meditated recently?"

"I've been too busy wrangling with RHIA, Master. I finally talked to the Coruscant regional director yesterday."

"I take it you were less than successful."

Anakin scowled. "He wouldn't budge on a single thing. Told me to fill out a petition form or talk to the Order about getting them to pay the bill."

"I suggest you request an audience with the Council," said Obi-Wan. "They'll take care of it. I happen to know we have an opening this afternoon."

Anakin looked up in surprise. "Really? I thought they were booked up three months in advance."

"Well, they would be, but Master Windu's hair care appointment was cancelled. It seems you ran over his barber's shop with Grievous' ship yesterday."

Anakin winced. "Great, this audience will be off to a wonderful—wait! Master Windu has _barber appointments_?"

Obi-Wan shrugged. "I think it's mainly out of habit."

* * *

_Later that afternoon…_

"A briefing you missed this morning," Yoda pointed out severely.

"My apologies, Master. I overslept." _What with rescuing the Chancellor and killing Sith Lords and fighting with my wife and all_, Anakin added sourly in his mind. _Not that that would be a good enough excuse for any of you…_

"See that it doesn't happen again," Mace ordered, scowling. "Now—what do you wish to speak with the Council about? Your encounter with Dooku yesterday?"

"Actually, Master, it's about this health insurance problem with RHIA," Anakin said. "I've attempted to get them to cover the bill for my prosthetic replacement after Geonosis, and they claim that the Order doesn't pay for Sith Lord coverage."

"That's right," Mace said testily. "It's an expensive premium service. You know how difficult it is to work with the Senate budget committee."

"Well," Anakin said, clamping down on his temper, "be that as it may, I don't have any possessions, so obviously I can't pay a twenty-thousand-credit bill. Shouldn't the Order cover the cost for me?"

"Hmmm…" murmured Yoda.

"It is indeed a difficult question," mused Ki-Adi-Mundi. Kit Fisto rapped his fingers thoughtfully on his chair. Nervous glances flitted around the room.

"Twenty thousand credits, you say," Windu said, glowering. "I'm afraid that's out of the question."

"_What?_"

"Money doesn't grow on juja trees, Jedi Skywalker," the bald Master told him. "We're in the middle of fighting a war. We can't afford these luxuries."

"Luxuries?" Anakin stammered. He flung his prosthetic hand forward. "I sort of need this thing, Master! I got it cut off fighting the damned war, in case you didn't notice! Isn't it more trouble for the Order to keep posting bail for me instead of just paying the bill and getting it out of the way?"

"Understand your frustration we do, but sufficient funds, we have not," Yoda explained. "Overdrawn for this quarter we are. Too much your bill is."

"I thought size mattered not," Anakin growled.

"An exception there is to every rule. By the way, bail you out again, I cannot. No more favors does the warden owe me. Exhausted them, I have."

Anakin groaned. "I don't believe it."

"That is why you fail. But sympathize, I do," said Yoda. "Still haggling with RHIA over my last orthopedic surgery bill, I am. Five hundred years ago, that was."

Anakin buried his face in his hands with a whimper.

* * *

_A few days and an arrest later…_

"Thanks for bailing me out, Your Excellency," Anakin sighed, settling back against the leather cushions of the luxury speeder.

"You know you can count on my help in any situation, Anakin," Palpatine told him graciously. "I simply hate to think of you languishing in that awful detention cell for days on end."

"Sometimes," Anakin told him fervently, "I think you're the only person who truly cares about me."

"It is very shocking to me that the Council doesn't recognize the greatness in you," said Palpatine sadly. "It's becoming clear that they don't appreciate you the way that you deserve."

"I know," Anakin agreed, his anger spiking. "I kill Sith Lords for them and they can't be bothered to pay one measly insurance bill. I'll never get it taken care of if the Council isn't even on my side."

"You know, of course, that I'd be delighted to pay the bill on your behalf," Palpatine suggested.

"That's very kind of you," Anakin said sincerely, a little taken aback, "but I'm a Jedi. I can't take money from anybody."

"Really, it wouldn't be going to you," the Chancellor pointed out. "It would be paid directly to a government agency. Consider it my way of helping protect a public servant injured in the dutiful exercise of his steadfast commitment to the welfare of the citizens of the Republic."

"Well," Anakin said, wavering, "when you put it that way…"

"You don't have to decide right now," the Chancellor said with a beatific smile as the speeder pulled up to the Temple precincts. "Just...consider the offer. After all, I wouldn't want to confuse your high moral instincts."

"You're very considerate," Anakin said adoringly. "I'll get back to you on that."

"Excellent," said Palpatine, displaying all his teeth happily. "Do take your time, Anakin."

* * *

It had been a bad few days on Coruscant, during which Palpatine's offer to pay the insurance bill barely even touched Anakin's mind. For one, the Chancellor had pretty much trumped it with his appointment of Anakin to the High Council—he'd said it was his way of compensating for the Council's refusal to pay the insurance bill, which Anakin felt was only fair. Then the Council had retaliated by refusing to make him a Master and ordering him to spy on the Chancellor. Obi-Wan had left for Utapau on the trail of General Grievous, tortuous dreams of Padmé's impending death had begun disturbing him so much that he forgot about their argument entirely, and just to cap it all off, he'd gotten toe fungus from his cellmate at the detention center.

When he tried to have it treated at the medbay in the Temple, the Padawan on duty had informed him that he wasn't permitted to receive any additional non-essential care until he settled accounts with RHIA. Despite all his promises to Padmé, Anakin threw her file cabinet down the trash chute too and stole a tube of foot cream from the Healers' supply closet.

It had turned out to be made for Trandoshans only.

_Now_—now he'd just discovered that Palpatine, his beloved mentor, the great galactic leader who'd bailed him out of jail when no one else would, the man who was like a father to him (okay, maybe more like grandfather, or even possibly great-grandfather) was a Sith Lord.

Absurdly, as he sat in the Council room waiting for Mace and his cohort of Jedi to get back from arresting the leader of the Republic, humming lyrics from _The Sith Wars _to himself, the question that occurred to Anakin most was not whether Palpatine really could save Padmé, or whether he really was a Sith Lord. No, the question Anakin found most pressing was—_how the nine hells did he get insurance coverage from RHIA all this time?_

And as he sat and pondered, it occurred to him that if Palpatine had fooled RHIA into covering an actual Sith Lord's health insurance costs for several decades, then the man must know how to out-manipulate the agency. Perhaps, even, he knew the secret to getting Anakin out of this paperwork swamp.

_I can't let Master Windu kill him!_ Anakin realized in a flash of insight. The next instant he bolted out of his seat and flew the first available vehicle to the Senate. _Screw earning Master Windu's trust_, he told himself, dodging an oncoming tour hoverbus. _Like I ever wanted it in the first place!_

The scene of devastation that met him in the Chancellor's office defied description. The corpses of three slain Jedi Masters decorated the carpet, the great glass window was gone, and the beautiful sculptures were in ruins—and what was worse, Mace had the Chancellor cowering at the point of his abominable purple lightsaber.

"You have lost!" Windu was shouting.

"Anakin!" Palpatine shouted desperately. "I told you it would come to this! The Jedi are plotting to take over!"

"The oppression of the Sith will never return!" Windu roared.

Palpatine snarled a retort and let loose a burst of blue lightning from his fingers. Anakin watched in horror as Windu slowly turned the lightning back against him, melting the Chancellor's face. It looked like a scene from the Third Act of _The Sith Wars_.

The Chancellor was faltering. "I'm too weak…help me, Anakin…"

"You can't kill him, Master!" Anakin yelled desperately. "He—uh—he must stand trial!"

"He controls the courts and the Senate!" Mace objected. "I'm going to end this!"

Anakin panicked. "It's—uh, it's not the Jedi Way!" he tried, hardly believing his own audacity in saying such a thing to Mace Windu.

Mace swung his blade up.

"No!" Anakin screeched. "_I need him to pay my insurance bill!"_

"What?" Mace asked, but Anakin had already sliced off his lightsaber hand, and then suddenly the Chancellor struck back. His burst of lightning blew the maimed Jedi Master straight through the broken window, and Anakin distinctly saw his form plunge through several layers of traffic and smash through the windshield of an unfortunate tour hoverbus.

"What have I done?" he moaned.

"You are fulfilling your destiny, Anakin," soothed the Chancellor. "Become my apprentice! Learn the ways of the Dark Side, and together we will destroy RHIA and reform the galactic government and health insurance system! And, of course," he added as an afterthought, "we'll save your dear Padmé too. I'm sure I can rediscover the secret of cheating death and creating life in no time at all."

Anakin collapsed to his knees, profound hope surging through every vein. "I'll do whatever you ask," he pledged. "Just get rid of RHIA!"

"Good, good," purred Palpatine. "The Dark Side is strong with you. Your fear for Padmé and anger with the health insurance system makes you strong… Henceforth you shall be known as Darth—Vader."

_That has a nice ominous ring to it_, Darth Vader thought. "Thank you, my Master," he said. "Um—what does it mean, exactly?"

"It's Ancient Huttese," explained Palpatine. "It means, He Who Has Outmaneuvered Many HMOs."

"Very fitting, my Master," Darth Vader exclaimed proudly. "It will strike fear into the hearts of all who oppose us. Especially RHIA agents."

"I spent two years researching names," Palpatine told him cheerfully. "Now—we must deal with the plot by the traitorous Jedi…"

* * *

The destruction of all the RHIA-supporting Jedi at the Temple went off pretty smoothly, and the newly christened Darth Vader began to feel hopeful about the future for the first time in three years. What was even better than getting rid of the Council, though, was Palpatine's promise that once Vader finished off the Separatist leaders on Mustafar, he could personally decapitate each and every RHIA agent he could find, from the irritating Falleen woman at the Jedi Temple to the Coruscant regional director himself.

Unfortunately, things on Mustafar didn't go quite as smoothly. First of all, Padmé had figured out just what her husband was up to and chased him down. If he'd thought the argument about the baby a few days ago was bad, it was nothing compared to this. And then…

…Obi-Wan had showed up.

_She really _is_ going to run away with him and abandon me on a planet full of hot lava and corpses_, Darth Vader realized.

And remembering their conversation about that very possibility several months ago, and how she'd promised she wouldn't ever do such a thing and now here she was _doing_ it, he'd simply lost his temper. One tantrum led to another, and now here he was lying in a scorched, dismembered huddle on an operating table while a team of sadistic droids poked, prodded, peeled away bits of charred clothes, and generally tortured the hell out of him. Somewhere in the background, he was sure that he could hear Aria Number 66 from _The Sith Wars_.

"...Behold thy backbone shattered, and thy body burned away...and thy limbs all hacked and mangled...and thy skin grotesquely flayed..."

The one consolation he had was the knowledge that if all had gone according to plan, his new Master had dissolved RHIA by now and he would never, _ever_ be billed for the new prosthetics that the droids were attaching.

Finally, the droids finished sealing him inside a life-support helmet and the table he was on titled up. He glimpsed the hooded form of Palpatine through the red-tinted vision screen of his mask.

"Lord Vader," asked the newly crowned Emperor, "can you hear me?"

"Yes, my master," Vader replied. His voice was alarmingly deep—it felt weird talking through the vocabulator instead of his own vocal cords. "Where is Padmé?" he asked. "Is she safe?"

"It seems," said the Emperor reluctantly, "in your anger…you killed her."

"What?" Vader asked numbly. _No…no, she was alive! I felt her!_

"And I'm afraid the bad news only gets worse," the Emperor added. "As I promised, my friend, RHIA is no more. Your former prosthetic bill has been erased from the records, as has all mention of the lawsuits against you. However, I simply had to create a new health care system—you can't very well hire employees for a new Galactic Empire without providing medical benefits, after all. I decided to call it the Imperial Ministry of Medical Insurance. And…well, I'm afraid that they don't cover reckless endangerment either."

"What are you saying, Master?" Vader asked in dread.

"Their investigation department has already viewed the images of your battle with Kenobi," said the Emperor. "And they've concluded that a Force user of your experience should have realized Kenobi had the upper ground and you would only be seriously injured by pursuing the fight. Plus, that fancy new life support system is _way_ over your maximum deductible. The upshot is…you owe the Galactic Empire 1.3 million credits."

Absolute, impotent horror broiled through every remaining square inch of Vader's body. His newly acquired circuits surged and shorted. Around him machinery began to implode. The opera music in the background swelled to a dramatic pitch. Despairing, he ripped free of the table restraints, staggered forward, flung his arms wide, and howled…

"Nooooooooooooooooooo!"

* * *

FINIS


End file.
